by James Hamby

Chief of Staff:The Donald be with you.
Cabinet:And also with you.
Chief of Staff:O, let us sing His greatness all our days!
Cabinet:For it is right to give our thanks and praise!
Chief of Staff:When chaos reigned throughout our lawless land
You came and filled the vast and dreadful void.
Cabinet:You’ve built this nation up by Your own hand.
Chief of Staff:The Democrats, with whom we were annoyed,
Must even now acknowledge their own sin
In questioning a President so great.
Cabinet:Let all who breathe sing praises of Your win,
Let all who see behold our country’s fate!
We sing Your praise till every tongue confess
Your vast accomplishments, your sheer success,
And every knee in humbleness is bent
Before the glories of our President!
All:An honor and a blessing, Mr. Trump,
It is to serve Your will and kiss Your rump.

— New York Times headline, June 11, 2017

by Susan McLean

Hail, Caesar, you who are about to die
again upon the Public Theater stage,
garbed as a trumped-up president, thereby
sparking the Breitbart fanboys’ righteous rage.

Like you, an upstart crossed a Rubicon,
a would-be strongman, blessed with many wives.
When satirized in a play, he called upon
the drama’s sponsors to employ their knives.

Bank of America and Delta, who
seemed shocked that a director had the gall
to update Shakespeare, pointedly withdrew
their funding, the unkindest cut of all.

by Gail White

The tweetybird sits up at night
And tries to get his language right.
He’s nearly mastered human speech
(Though thought may linger out of reach).
In answer to opposing views
He merely squawks, “Fakenews! Fakenews!”
He knows opposing him is Sad,
Investigating him is Bad,
And somewhere near the letter F
He finds the press is too Covfefe
(More syllables? With mind intent,
He thinks Cov-fe-fe’s what he meant).
At any rate, it’s quite absurd
So just enjoy the tweetybird.

by Cody Walker

I hope there are tapes,
I hope there are tapes,
political karma, it comes in all shapes

I used to hate Comey,
but now he’s my homey,
and Lordy, I hope there are tapes

I hope there are tapes,
I hope there are tapes,
hey look, it’s Big Jimbo, behind the blue drapes

I used to hate Comey,
but now he’s my homey,
and Lordy, I hope there are tapes

by Jerome Betts

While walking in Wales, Mrs. May
Decided just which was the day
She’d complete demolition
Of Labour’s position
And sweep the sad remnants away.

It was clear no Conservative feared
This opponent whom many deemed weird,
So she made a huge bet
On the landslide she’d get
Plus a sneer at the man with the beard.

But the grey-bobbed T. M., 8th of June,
Heard the sound of a bursting balloon.
That first exit poll
Confirmed her own goal . . .
And a chance for the straw-haired buffoon?

O hubris, what grief you have cost her!
She’s in thrall now to Ulster’s A. Foster!
Neither stable nor strong,
No doubt before long
She’ll appear on the ex-PMs’ roster.

by Mark Granier

… she ain’t,
Theresa Mayn’t.

by Kathleen Naureckas

Jefferson Beauregard Sessions
refused to make any confessions.
With a drawl and a smile
he defended Trump while
he recalled all of Comey’s transgressions.